In Between (2077)
by Sarahaku
Summary: For years you've been lying. They're piling up now- the excuses, the evasions. But he can't know that you've been raised by a "troll" couple, failed genetic experiments from sixty years ago. He'll hate you for it just like all the other humans hate trolls. And you'll lose him. So you'll just keep lying. (From my 2067 AU's timeline, not really a sequel)
1. Human

Prologue

You'd been told the story since you could remember. Your father had been twenty-one and so had your mother. He'd wanted to ask to borrow something trivial- a detail that'd dissolved in the ten years time since. The woman that opened the door was your mother. She smiled at him, and though she meant well, she had an unsettling grin. Her pointed teeth were in full view and her black lips stretched wide. But that wasn't unusual to your father. He had the same yellow teeth, and lips only a few shades lighter than hers. But he still gawked. It was not because of the pointed horns atop her head, or her red-tinted sunglasses that shielded her blind eyes from view.

It was because of the child clinging to her knee. A child that clearly could not be related to her. The child that had rosy skin and large blue eyes, a mop of deep brown hair.

He was a human. And he was you.

Dad snapped his dangling jaw closed, and looked for words, trying to ask his question. "Johnny," Mom said to you, ruffling your hair. "Can you go look for it for him?" You looked up at her, still hiding from the other man. Outsiders always intimidated you. You scurried off, eager to hide back into the depths of the apartment, away from the stranger. Mom had always kept you away from them since she'd adopted you, last year, when you were three.

Well, "adopt" was a loose term. They would never let a troll like Mom adopt a human boy like you. Despite the fact that she was practically human, with a few new genes and a scrambled DNA code she was inferior. She was a "troll." And nobody had ever accepted trolls. The last thing the humans were going to do was give their offspring to the genetic freaks. Even though it was the humans that had created the trolls, back in 2017.

No, Mom had not really adopted you. She'd been on her way to work (she earned money for the both of you at an insurance firm- hiding behind a desk, working for just above minimum wage was the way the humans liked her.) There was a rundown playground that the troll children played in. And sitting smack in the middle of it, crying away was you. You were a mess, your face looking like what Mom fondly described as a "snotty tomato" You were howling, and nobody but Mom was around for miles at so early in the morning.

She wandered over, crouching down. "What's wrong?" She said softly. You were scared. Mom has always had a naturally scratchy voice, though not unkind, it was unsettling. And she was a troll. The last troll you had met had been just like the stories- at least you thought so then.

That troll had been your step-dad, someone you didn't remember at all except for the small scrawled note that still sat around somewhere in the apartment. The one that you had crumpled up in your pocket and you had been instructed to give to the next person to come by.

_This is John. Please, take care of him. _

Mom always bickered about this She thought it was a terrible idea to leave you sitting around as a human baby in a troll neighborhood. But she would always punch you gently in the arm and say it was a good thing she found you. As a young woman, she was perplexed. She first talked to you long enough to calm you down, then picked you up and tilted you around, inspecting you. That was before she lost her sight. She rubbed at your forehead with propped up on her arm, to see if face paint would come off. She poked around your head curiously, her bottom lip jutted out.

And when she realized that you were, in fact, a real human, left in a troll neighborhood for God knows why she took you in, like a stray animal. She said she considered dumping you off at a human neighborhood. But she was nervous and kept procrastinating, Final she decided _screw it _ and let you loose around her apartment. She couldn't afford much, you had a good amounts of toys though. Blocks, big plastic trucks, toy keys and such. She usually had her sister watch you- Aunt Vriska.

You weren't really a fan of Aunt Vriska. She was nice enough but she was loud and impatient and didn't tend to want to play with you. When you wiggled your teddy bear around in her face, a second one tucked under your arm she shooed you away. Then, one day Aunt Vriska ended up breaking up with her boyfriend and had to get a job to support herself. She couldn't watch you anymore. You were too young to go to the troll tutor's (the best thing the trolls had for education)

Then Mom remembered the neighbor who she'd helped a while ago. "He owes me a favorite, right Johnny?"

"Right," you agreed. You were four, and as far as you were considered your mothers words were as good as the words of God. So you agreed. She walked you over to his apartment next door and knocked incessantly until he opened it. You wrapped your arms around her neck, nuzzling against her grey skin. She patted your head.

The door slammed open, making you jump. You peeked out from Mom's neck at the man that had come over the day before. He had messy black hair and frowned, arms crossed over his torso. "Can I help you?" He said, sounding testy. Mom gave her best pleading look.

"Can you please watch Johnny for me?" She said hastily. "I have to go to work and I don't have anyone else."

"I… have work at eight," he said. She smiled.

"Great! I get out at six!" She held you out. "Please? I'll pay you if you want!" He paused then sighed.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I guess I'll watch your…. son. You don't have to pay me either, but it's only this one time. I'm not some kind of babysitter." She nodded.

"Thank you, I'll do my best to get a new babysitter worked out! You're so helpful!" According to Mom this was her attempt to flirt to make him more willing to do it, which usually got a glare out of her father. According to them, it worked out for them. You really didn't want to here this.

"Alright… um…"

"My name's Terezi. Terezi Pyrope. Here's my work number…" she handed Dad a piece of paper. "And here's John." You wriggled angrily. "Sorry, I don't think I've gotten your name yet."

"Mommy!" You pleaded, reaching for her, nearly making Dad drop you. He held you tightly, looking at you with a look of desperation, obviously having no idea what in the world he was supposed to do with you, as you began to shriek and hold the best tantrum you could. She smiled.

"It's… Karkat."

"I'll be back. Don't give, Karkat a hard time, alright, Johnny?" You screamed. "Thank you so, so much. I have to go now." She ran off.

"Hey! Wait!" Mom was already down the hallway. Dad looked at you and frowned. "Great."  
You howled.

"What do you want, kid?"

"Mom!" You screeched angrily. He frowned.

"Yeah, well, um… Mom went to work, remember? What does she usually do with you."

"I… Aunt… Vriska!" You babbled, wiping your face with your chubby wrist. He sighed and grabbed a paper towel, wiping your face with it. You screamed once loudly, indignantly, then gave him an angry look, jutting out your bottom lip as you did when Mom was frustrated.

"Well, I'm not Aunt Vixen, or whatever." You bared your teeth and growled as intimidating as possible. He copied you, making you cry again.

"Alright, alright. I'm just kidding. Look, you want soda or something?" Your eyes went wide.

"Soda is for grown-ups," you said. He shrugs and handed you a can of soda from the counter, cracking it open.

"I won't tell mom if you shut u- I mean, quiet down." You glanced at him in shock, then put the can up to your lips, taking a sip. You winced from the bubbles, but drank it. You didn't care for the fizz but for God's sake you were being offered permission to do grown up things.

Dad sat you in front of his old-fashioned television, which was an antique from 2020 or something. You sat and watched a movie, which bored you silly. You wandered around the apartment. You made a tower out of CD boxes. You wandered into his brothers room and got into his face paints and had successfully painted the carpet before he was done making you lunch. He mumbled curses that made your eyes bulge- words Mom usually started apologizing and telling you never ever to repeat when she let them slip. He picked you up by your armpits and stuck you in front of a television dinner which you refused to eat.

Overall, you didn't like Dad at first. But Mom ended up not being able to find a babysitter and Dad kept babysitting you. She always offered to pay, but he always refused. And long story short, they ended up getting together and getting married by the time you were eight.

So you became a human boy with troll parents. To the world of the humans you were acceptable. But only if you kept your parents a secret for some ridiculous racism that existed.

And you found yourself burying yourself in fibs about your parents. And it was all very easy until you had to deal with one person. Your only friend. Dave.


	2. Dave

At first, you didn't like Dave at all. Of course, that was back nine years ago, when you were going to kindergarten. Your parents insisted that you go to human school, to be able to "integrate" with them. So, despite your tearful pleadings, you were sent off to school. You were especially mad because mom and dad couldn't go with you.

That was where Aunt Tavra came in. She was your adoptive... step-not-really aunt? He was Dad's brother's girlfriend (eventually wife). And the only human connection in the family. You were lucky to even have her. She ended up being your link to the human world. She dealt with getting you to school. Your knees wobbled as you looked up at the giant steel and concrete building. Aunt Tavra smiled and nudged you along. You were convinced you were going to hate it. You were right.

At first, you were happy enough. You sat alone, which didn't really bother you, and you did the work that was assigned to you, scribbling out a picture with a fresh box of crayons. You colored as carefully as you could, scribbling in your messy self portrait. Everything was fine as the beginning until everyone went outside. You looked at the playground in awe- it was shiny and new. The swings had thick metal strings that were silent unlike the creaky chains at the ones near home. It was clean and bright, and you hardly knew how to react. Slowly, you climbed onto one of the swings. You looked out at the cars hovering past, the wind tousling your hair.

"Hey," someone said. "I want that swing." You stopped the swing, to look at the kid that had talked to you. He stood in front of you, his arms crossed. He wore a red tee-shirt that was too big for him and black jeans. He wore glasses that flickered. You gaped. He had computerized sunglasses? You thought only rich people had those! And only grownups! What if he was a rich kid? You felt uncomfortable.

"B-but," you said quietly. "There's two more swings." The boy glowered.

"I want that swing," he snapped. "Get off our I'll break your glasses." You stared at the blond who scowled at you. You slowly stood up off the swing and inched away from it. He walked over, standing up to full height to intimidate you. It worked- he was a few inches taller than you and with his sunglasses you couldn't see his eyes.

You didn't get bothered by the kid for a while after that. You found out his name was Dave. He got yelled at the second day of school about wearing his glasses but he indignantly snapped, "Bro says!" He didn't say what "Bro said" or why, but the teachers ended up calling home and for some reason by the end of the call, he was allowed to wear his computerized glasses as long as they were turned off. At the end of the day, he had a lot of kids gathered around him. He became the leader of them all, and you were stuck in the back. You were afraid of them and it seemed none of the other kids wanted to talk to you anyway. He gave a quick wave goodbye to his friends before running off.

He ran over to a tall boy who was reclined against a parked hovercar, a sleek black convertible with orange lines running across the sides. The teenage boy looked a lot like Dave, with sunglasses and matching blond hair. His expression was blank and he ushered towards the passenger door with his thumb and got in. The other kids gaped, impressed by the expensive looking car.

Dave was the leader of the kids. And he seemed to enjoy picking on you. So, naturally, all the other kids did too. He usually called you names or passive-aggressively asserted his power over you like the swing incident. The other boys were more zealous though.

They made fun of you, your oversized, threadbare clothing. Your hair, and your crooked glasses. Your overbite. Anything, really. But one day it got worse. One boy shoved you down. You fell over, dirt spraying in your face. You felt your glasses snatched off your face. You opened your eyes, though they stung from the soil in them. The group of boys laughed at you and jeered. You felt tears at your eyes from both the pain and the words. You reached forward desperately.

"Let's break 'em!" One boy cried, laughing.

"No! No! I need those!" You cried pitifully. Cruel laughter was your response. One boy held them above his head.

"Should I?" There were cheers of agreement.

"No," someone said. "You shouldn't. You give 'em back to him right now or else!" The boys turned. Dave stood tall, his fists clenched. The boy with your glasses, obviously trying to outdo their leader shook is head. "Right now or else!" Dave repeated.

"Or else what, huh?"

"Or else I'll tell my Bro!" Dave cried. "And he knows how to sword fight and so do I. So you better give him back his glasses." The boy's smile faded.

"I'll tell the teacher!"

"I'll tell them you took his glasses!" Dave cried back, loudly. So in the end you got your glasses back. You quietly thanked Dave, but he was already gone.

It didn't stop him from still bullying you but for some reason he made sure the other boys stayed in line.

In first grade, he moved away. Without Dave as a mediator, the bullying got worse. Name-calling morphed as you got older into stealing your things. By the time you were in middle-school you were running home, out of the human neighborhood as fast as you could. Otherwise you'd be cornered and you'd have your homework ripped to shreds, and you'd be tossed around. Your glasses were taped up at every hinge from being snapped over and over. Mom and Dad couldn't afford a new pair, you'd had the same ones since you were five. And as hard as it was to see out of them, you were practically blind without them.

In eighth grade it reached it's height. You got beaten up near the end of the year. The only thing that stopped them was Aunt Tavra came looking for you and snarled at them, threatening them away for you. She helped you up and dusted you off, and you felt stupid. You felt stupid and stuck. You were a human. Weren't you supposed to fit in with the rest of them? Tavra took you home, and you tried to keep a smile on, though you felt worthless.

Ninth grade came. You kept your ratty sweatshirt hood over your face, looking down at your feet, cleaning your glasses over and over. "Hey, this seat taken?" You turned to the voice. A lanky blonde boy stood in front of you, holding the seat with one hand, propping himself up with it. He adjusted his glasses, sunglasses that flickered with pixels. His expression was flat.

It was Dave Strider.

Thoughts swarmed your head. How he'd been the closest thing you'd had to a friend. Even though he'd been the one to start the bullying. With him around, school had been more bearable. You wondered why he wanted to sit with you. You shook your head quickly. He slumped down in the seat with a sigh.

"Nice to see you again, John." You blinked. He knew your name? You smiled, but you couldn't keep it for long before you turned back to rub at your glasses with your shirt.

**A/N: hello! i hope this chapter was up to snuff. i think the next one will be better. **


	3. Friends

Being home was the worst. It wasn't because you hated being home, really. In fact, you would've loved being home. But lately it was starting to make everything worse. For a long time once Aunt Tavra would drop you off you would sit with Mom and talk about school. She would smile and make all your problems seem small in a way that didn't make you feel stupid about them. It just seemed to make them... go away.

But lately there'd been a big problem. One that you and mom couldn't get rid of. You unlocked the door and looked around. Quiet as usual. Dad was still at work. You threw your backpack down, tip-toeing into your parents room. Mom lay her eyes closed, listening to the television. She couldn't watch it anymore, not since she'd gotten sick. Not since her sickness had blinded her, emptied the emotion out of her eyes. She faced you, hearing you enter, her eyes pointed in your general direction. The dead expression made your heart sink. She smiled a bit.

"Hello, Johnny," she said, pulling herself up. You sat on the side of the bed.

"Don't sit up, Mom. Don't want you hurting yourself.' Mom huffed.

"Kid, if you're not gonna let me do anything I'll just go back to sleep," She struggled into a half-seated position, resting against her pillow. You sighed, and tried to keep your voice cheery. If she could see you, she would see that you weren't smiling.

"Hungry?" She nodded. I offered her a bowl of soup.

"If you keep treating me like a stereotypical sick person I'm going to kick your ass when I get better," she said, accepting the soup anyways. She swirled the noodles around with the spoon before taking a bite. Her hand shook, almost half of the spoonful sloshing back into the bowl.

"Mom, let me feed you," you said with a sigh. "Most people would take advantage of havingsl their own personal servant." She wiggled the spoon around, about ninety degrees away from where you actually were. You reach over and take it.

"Fine," she mumbled in defeat. You take a spoonful and feed it to her. "So how was school?" She said in her new, whispery tone. You shrug. It's hard to remember that mom can't see your expressions. You grip the spoon tighter. She needed a doctor. But how were you supposed to afford one when she was out of work?

"It was okay," you mumbled.

"Did anyone give you any trouble?"

"No," you lie. You're glad she can't see you're lying. You touch the bruise on your face, wincing, before putting the spoon up to her lips. "It was a pretty quiet day."

"Any new friends?" You paused.

"No," you grumbled. You think about earlier, scowling to yourself.

_You sat quietly, tugging your hood further over your head, trying to block out the boy next to you. You heard whispering and listened to the girls behind you._

_"Is that Dave Strider? I thought he moved when his old man was locked up?"_

_"Why is _he _back? I thought he moved to like, Texas, or something with his freaky-ass brother." The other girl sniffed in contempt. You swear you saw Dave cringe. He looks across the room, his expression unreadable before he turns to you._

_"So which way do we go?" Dave said. You clenched your fists inside the sleeves of your shirt. _

_"Why are you following me," you snarled. _

_"Um... we have the same classes?" He said as though it's obvious._

_"It's because your old friends don't like you anymore," you whisper, gritting your teeth. "And now you're looking to me because you think I'm low hanging fruit to climb your way back up again." He frowned. _

_"Whoa. What did I do?" You laughed in disbelief._

_"What did you do? Ever since kindergarten these assholes have been pushing me around and it's because of you! Because _you _got them all to hate me." You aggressively pulled your hood down to reveal your freshly-swollen cheek. "I hate you because of this, Dave!" _

_"You're going to blame me for some shit that happened to you in kindergarten? Fuck that, dude .It's not like I'm the same kid! Get over yourself." He shook his head and stalked off. You felt the same lump rising in your throat that hadn't left all of last year. You take a different route to class._

_At lunch, you sit alone. Outside of the cafeteria. Your stomach growls. You haven't been taking lunch, and neither has dad. But Mom doesn't need to know that. You saw someone flop down next to you. Dave. You glare at him. God damnit, what's his _problem?

_"Look, I'm sorry." You turned to look at him. "I was an idiot when I was a kid. I was just trying to get respect, so I picked on you." _

_"You know what, screw what happened in kindergarten. It's the fact that you're trying to be my friend now that you're on the same level as me," you spit. "I'm not interested in your friendship." _

_"Fair enough," he says calmly. He handed you a granola bar without a word, then wandered off. _

"Well stop being so sh-y-y!" She teased, reaching out and tapping at the air until she found your cheek and pinched it. "C'mon, Johnny what isn't there to love about you?" You were quiet.

Everything, your mind screamed. Everything about you "wasn't to love."

"Still hungry?" Was all you could manage for a response. But, honestly, Dave was on your mind at the mention of making friends. And you didn't really like it.


	4. Persistant

Two weeks crawl by. Dave doesn't talk to you, like you hoped. But at the same time, he keeps finding a way to worm back into your focus. Everyday at lunch he'll toss you some sort of food, which you give up ignoring. He still sits next to you in homeroom. If you drop something and he's nearby he'll pick it up. But he never says a word. At first you're bothered a lot by it. It bugs you even worse than the kids that are asses to you. But after a while you get used to it. If he doesn't come by your spot in the hall with a candy bar or a soda, you wonder what happened.

You don't think this is friendship. But slowly you kind of wish it was. Dave's one of the only kids that isn't either ignoring you with a passion or shoving you against a wall and shredding up your math homework. You begin to wonder if it's really his fault that these kids are such idiots. But watching him, you realize he has a temper. If a kid picks on him long enough he will stand up, without a word but red in the face and punch them full force across the jaw. If he gets in trouble with a teacher, he'll sling back insults. He's got to be taken to the office at least twice a week.

But at the same time, you still have your doubts. You're just waiting for him to go away. It wasn't like you really wanted him around too badly. You shrug it off and wait for him to get tired of giving you food or otherwise trying to help you out.

Another week rears it's ugly head and you wake up with the same sickness you feel every Monday. You creep over to Mom and Dad's room to see that Dad's already gone to work while Mom is asleep. Dad works practically fourteen hours a day at this point, trying to bring in what he can. Mom would probably give him a hard time about it but she's too tired to really put up a fight. You tiptoe out, making sure that she's still asleep. You go to the kitchen and rifle around the cabinets, stirring up some oatmeal and setting it on her nightstand before getting ready for school. You pause, watching her a bit. Her breath is ragged, but quiet and her lips are parted a bit. She has a loose hold on a clump of blankets, and her hair is splayed around her. She's completely still, so you sigh and fix the covers back over her legs before you leave to go to school.

The walk to school often discomforts you. You watch the troll neighborhood lead into a patch of conifers before it dissolves quickly into the human neighborhood. Instead of dim and overtones by grey, the new scenery is white and shining. Flowers are brighter, people stand taller. The benches don't creak and aren't rotting, the metals of signs aren't rusting. You try to ignore it.

School is a long walk away, but it's better than forcing Aunt Tavra to keep chauffeuring you around now that you're older. People are walking down the street around you, wearing trim neat clothes. You instinctively look down at your ripped jeans that are finally growing tight after three years and your stained white tee-shirt with the holes on the sleeves. It doesn't bother you as much as it used to, really.

As you near your school, you sigh, walking mechanically. You hold onto your backpack straps, and duck your head down. You're practically to the entrance when you're pulled off your feet by the handle of your backpack over to the side. You stumble to your feet and turn to see the usual bullies. You swallow, standing helplessly in front of them.

"Did Baby Johnny tattle on us?" The front boy hissed, spitting before turning back to glare at you. You shook your head quickly. "What?"

"No!" You cried. The boy crossed his arms, leaning a bit to one side.

"Well, what friends do you have, asshole? Nobody's gonna squeal but you." You grip your backpack tighter and instantly wonder if it was Dave. Why would he tell the teachers about you being bullied? You bit your lip, growing angry at him again.

You're thrown against the wall before you can think much more about the subject. "Why don't you fucking snitch again?" A different voice jeers. You fall into the bushes, which scrape up your knees through the holes in your jeans. You're pulled back up by the arm and swung into the ground once more. You gasp for air. You won't cry, even though it hurts and you feel completely miserable. You know better than to cry. And you won't, you won't, you won't "Oh, lookit Baby Johnny! You need a tissue, you pansy-ass?" You're thrown headfirst back into the shrubs. But before you can be jerked back up something distracts the three boys.

"What do you want?" The first one asks.

"Why don't you assholes get to class?" You slowly pull yourself up to look.

"Pfft, make us," the third one says, grinning menacingly. "Freaky-kid Strider's gonna rescue his boyfriend, guys. We better go hide." The others grinned, standing taller.

"You want me to count to three or beat you senseless right now?" Dave's venomous threat was met with more laughter.

"Dave, don't," you say quietly. You felt yourself shoved again before they took a step forward. There was the sound of knuckles hitting bone, and a cry of surprise. You wince, begging that Dave's okay as you pull yourself back into a standing position. But it's not Dave clinging to his bleeding mouth. It's the first boy, glaring at Dave. He steps back and the other boys follow suit.

"Whatever, Strider. You can throw a punch. But you're just getting asshole over here in more trouble for the next time we see 'em."

"Well," said Dave coolly, crossing his arms. "You try that and you'll be eating pavement before you can lay a finger on him." They glare and back up a bit more. He turns to you, raising his eyebrows. "C'mon, John, let's get you cleaned up."


	5. The Rule

It was just you and Dave in the bathroom. "Here, let me clean you up." You look down to see the scabbed up scratches on your forearms, smeared with blood. You glance in the mirror and see the scrapes running across your left cheek. There's a cut across your bottom lip. You pull your lip into your mouth, trying to stop it's bleeding, but the metallic liquid flows on, hitting your tongue. Yick.

"I can do it my-," you trailed off as Dave grabbed your arm and stuck it under the sink. He stomped around the bathroom.

"No paper towels, of course." He glared at the air dryers, then rooted around his backpack and extracted a lunch box. Within the lunch box, instead of lunch, was a completely unnecessary amount of paper eating utensils, napkins, a replacement battery for his glasses, protein bars, and crumpled up paper. He grabs a wad of napkins and runs them under the sink. He swipes carefully at the dried blood on your arms. "Why were those idiots bothering you, man?"

"Well they said... someone told the teachers that they were harassing me and they were pretty ticked about it," you say, your voice low. Dave wipes at your face. He's closer to you now, concentrating on refraining from hurting you. Up close, he smells like laundry detergent and spice. You kick yourself for being creepy enough to be focusing on his sent.

"Hmm," he mumbled. "You must be lying about having no friends then. Someone cares about you then."

"It wasn't you?" You ask, meeting his eyes. You can only see the faint outline of his eyes through his dark glasses. He shakes his head, beginning to dry the water off your face.

"Nah, I know better than to try to fix shit that way." He paused. "Do you get bugged by them a lot?"

"Oh... no. Not too often."

"What's not too often?"

You sighed. "Every few weeks I guess?" He frowns, backing up and getting rid of the napkins.

"That's still too often. Hey, but don't worry. If you ever need any help again, I'll beat them up. I got some pretty decent moves that my Bro taught me." You smile a bit and nod.

"Thank you, Dave."

"No problem. Let's get to class, alright?"

* * *

Once upon a time you were a big deal. Dave Strider, the coolest kid in class. Of course, that had been when you were, like, five. But that was a pretty sweet deal. Too bad you were to little to appreciate it.

When you were still a little snot-faced brat, you had lots of friends. You remember bits and pieces of it. sat back, slumped lazily down in your chair while your friends hogged the learning pad. There was only one and you usually had priority over the flat computer, using the coloring program to draw most of your group's turn. You looked over at the kid that usually sat alone. The other kids were playing kitchen, tapping orders into the screen. The kitchen dinged, the correct plastic food popping out of it. He shyly went up, but was shoved out of the way without even a glance in his direction from the other kids. You knew him, sort of. His name was John. There were three tiers in the social ladder of your group of five-year-olds; Dave, all the other kids, and John at the bottom.

The timer rung to head outside. You pulled your coat on. John was next to you, fumbling with the broken zipper of his torn-up sweatshirt. You chased after him as he got onto the swings. "Hey," you said, without thinking. He looked up. And so did your friends. You didn't talk with John. That was the rule. Nobody talked to John. You couldn't be nice to him- you wouldn't be the coolest any more. "I want that swing." The other kids watched you intently, confused as to why you would be talking to him.

Long story short, you saved some face by forcing the kid of the swing instead of asking if you could swing with him like you'd intended. And you accidentally gave the others a whole new idea. Why _ignore _John when they could be _picking on_ John?

And it started up that way. You felt kind of bad, honestly. You tried your best to keep them in line, when they started getting out of hand. You did your best to fix what you'd done. But you couldn't. You thought you were in charge of the twenty other kids. But you learned the hard way that you really weren't.

And then one day you came home to see a big black hovervan outside your house. You wondered who was visiting. "Bro, who's that?" You asked. Your brother shook his head.

"Just a visitor, li'l man," he muttered. "Now, you listen. I'm gonna have to say some things that aren't necessarily true to get us outta this you keep your trap shut about them. You got it?" His tone was harsh. You nodded quickly. "If they ask you any questions, you just answer 'em, alright? But otherwise. No. Talking." He adjusted his glasses and climbed out of the car. You followed him, furrowing your brow. What was happening?

Inside your father sat at the dining table. There were three men in blue suits sitting around him. You stood in the doorway, swaying a bit. "Hello, David. Dirk. Why don't you sit down with us?" You glanced at Bro, who nodded. You pulled your usual chair out, and climbed into it, staring at the men. "Mind if we ask you some questions first, David?" You frowned.

"Why?"

"We're from Child Protective Services. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. "We're like policemen."

"Oh, alright." So they asked you some questions. You answered them nervously, constantly looking back over at Bro. You answered them honestly. They asked if your father drank a lot of alcohol, and you said yes. They asked if your father had lots of strange guests over, you said yes. Then they asked Bro questions. You didn't understand them at the time. The words neglect, money laundering, bribery all popped up. They meant nothing to you.

"How old are you, son?" A man asked Bro.

"Nineteen," he said. That was a lie. Bro was only sixteen. You remember what he said about not telling about him lying. After a while, you were shooed into your room. You watched shows on your glasses. After a while, you were called back in. There were more questions. This time, none of them were about Dad. But instead they were all about Bro. Was he a good Bro? You nodded enthusiastically. Did you like being with your brother? You nodded. They asked you about him so you bragged about him for a while. You were sent back out for what felt like forever. Finally you heard the door open and shut. There was silence.

You heard something crash. Then another thing. You heard Bro shout curse words and something about your Dad that you didn't understand. After a while, he came into your room. His face was flat. He sat down on your bed next to you. "Hey, kid." You waved uncertainly. "So, I got an idea, you wanna hear it?" You nodded. "Well, here's the thing. Dad got in a hell of a lot of trouble." Silence. "And... he has to go away."

"To jail?" You asked. You were to young to understand the intensity of the situation. It was just strange and novel to you. He nodded.

"Right. And so it's just gonna be you and me. That's cool, right?" You nod. He mutter something about it "Not being too different anyway." and then continues talking to you. "The thing is, I could get in some trouble, too, if I do that here since I told those lies."

"You could go to jail?"

"Probably not. But if you wanna hang out with me, they gotta think I'm a bigger guy than I am. So we gotta get outta here and go somewhere else."

"Why?"

"We just do." It didn't sink in at all for you. Your Bro was basically your sacred savior- you did anything he told you to. If the guy told you to jump off a bridge, you would have done it in a second as a kid. So he helped you pack up your things. He was really rushed. Obviously, he didn't need everyone around town knowing about him being underage to really be a legal guardian. So he and you skipped town, with you completely oblivious to what was really happening.

As a kid, things were fine. You had friends at school and they didn't know anything about your Dad. As you got older, you began to understand more about it. He was a successful businessman, you knew that, yes. But he rigged elections, did all the crazy businessman stuff you hear about on television. Not to mention, he was a deadbeat dad and was involved with two women, neither of which you'd ever even met. Unfortunately, as you got older and understood, so did your friends. Your popularity dropped like a rock. You got bullied.

You knew how to fight, it was a hobby of you and Bro's. But fighting got you in trouble. Eventually expelled. One day you came home to boxes. "Where are we going."

"Moving," Bro snapped. "We obviously can't keep you around here."

"It's not my fault," you snapped.

"Pack your shit."

So nine years later, you went back to your home town. Bro probably had friends he wanted to see again. You figured you'd probably have the same friends. Of course it wasn't that easy. It turned out the rule had been revised. Don't talk to John. And Don't talk to Dave.

Your attention turned back to the boy who you'd kicked off the swings. You were allowed to talk to him now. And now you were old enough that you could fix your stupid mistake as a kid.


	6. Outcast

Later, you walk towards lunch, admittedly a bit anxious to check on John. You fill the delicate tap of fingers on your shoulders, and you sigh, knowing already who it is. You turn around to face the most annoying girl you have ever imagined could exist. "'Allo Daveed," she says, overdoing her own French accent just to piss you off. She hardly even sounds overly French in reality, though she spent the first twelve years of her life over there before moving in with you. Her mother was a childhood friend of Bro's and apparently "Cousin Rose" was staying with you until further notice.

"What do you want?" You snap. She tuts.

"I'm just saying hello to my _darling _friend, Dave,' she said, walking beside you. You glare at her.

"You're never _just _doing something, Lalonde. You've always got an ulterior motive." She smiled her basilisk smile, picking at her nails and keeping your pace.

"Always an ulterior motive?" She laughed. "You villanize me." She sucked in a breath. "Buuut," she sang. You rolled your eyes. Here it came. Whatever it was that your dear _Cousin _was about to try and pick apart. She was obsessed with the fact that she could somehow remotely take over your life and have you follow her orders to "improve" your life. "I've been wondering about that boy you seem to be taken with lately."

"First off, I'm not _taken _with him," Dave snaps. She keeps a deadpan. "Secondly, he's just a friend of mine. Not everything is your over-romanticized bullshit." She shrugs, unmoved.

"Oh, you should introduce him to me today. We _do _have the same lunch today." He scowled.

"Nuh-uh. No way."

"Well aren't you protective of your new little friend," she said, sniggering.

"What? No!" He snapped, before remembering to stay on her level of apathy. He pushed his glasses up on his face in an attempt to redeem himself. "I just know you'll try and pull something, and you'll freak the poor kid out." She shrugged. Much to your dismay, she follows you to lunch.

You hate how she thinks you know everything. Even worse you hate how Rose is almost always right. So _what _if your "taken" with John? It doesn't involve her in the least. You're a big boy. You can handle your own relationship drama without Miss Therapist jutting her big perfumey self right into the middle of it.

You plopped down next to John and glared venomously at her as she sat herself down next to you. John looked over at her. You tried to convince her to go away using not much more than dirty looks that were half-shielded by your sunglasses. "Hello," she says. "I'm a friend of Dave's." _Ha ha. Ha ha. Friend. _"Would you mind if I sit here?"

"Oh, no, that's fine!" John says. He turns to you. "And… thanks for your help earlier." You shrug, and offer him some of your lunch, as you usually do. Today he accepts it, thanking you and quietly turning to eat it. After a while, Rose pipes up, asking John about himself. She seems to be doing a good job making conversation and the fact that she's talked to John more in ten minutes than you have in three weeks is bothering you more than you care to admit. The bell rings, and she gathers her books and stands up.

"Well, it was certainly nice meeting you, John. I'll talk to you tomorrow, then?" He nods.

"Yeah, alright! Bye, Rose." You walked with John to class. Today, though, he seemed more willing to talk to you. "She seems nice." You shrug.

"She's pretty cool, I guess." You have this strange inability to shit-talk Rose allowed. One might say it was actually because you cared about her, but you brushed such ideas aside. "Hey, are you gonna be okay after school today? Do you want me to walk you home?"

"What? No, no, no it's fine!" He says quickly. "They won't bother me, it'll be fine. Don't worry about it."  
"Um, alright." You say. "I mean, it's not a big deal for me at all. I wouldn't mind." God, you are completely failing at sounding the least bit smooth. He shakes his head.

"No, no, it's completely fine!" He persists. He seems pretty averse to you walking him home and you wonder if you pushed your luck. "See you next period," he calls, and races off to his next class.

You stand there for a minute stupidly before shaking your head and going off to your next class.

God, you're such an idiot! You've never had anyone ask to come around your house before, and you freaked out. You clutched the straps of your backpack. Why should it matter if Dave knew about your parents? You didn't even care about him anyway! But you did. He protected you before, and he was being nice to you. You dared say he was even your friend. You didn't want him to be freaked out by your parents and disappearing.

You didn't understand. You'd befriended Dave, and Rose seemed nice. And yet, you weren't enjoying having friends as much as you thought you would. It didn't fix your problems. You were scared. After all, you weren't like them. You had a weird family. Not to mention, they both were obviously more financially sound then you. Rose had a holographic cellphone and Dave had his glasses, not to mention their clothes seemed much newer and less full of holes than yours. You felt like an outcast.

That night, you sat in bed, staring at the ceiling, shadows casting around the room from the flickering streetlights outside. You wondered how long this could last, and it made you feel sick. You didn't belong, and you couldn't do much but keep trying to.


End file.
